


Hand Over Foot

by aerospaces



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerospaces/pseuds/aerospaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Eggsy wakes up naked.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand Over Foot

**Author's Note:**

> For another prompt on the kingsman kinkmeme, specifically [this one](http://dressing-room3.livejournal.com/405.html?thread=19349#t19349): "The Morning After".
> 
> Fill can also be read on tumblr @ [aeronautiques](http://aeronautiques.tumblr.com/post/115535341531/fill-hand-over-foot-fluff-1-000-words) | Cheers!

 

 

* * *

 

Eggsy wakes up naked.  
  
He usually sleeps naked so it shouldn’t be a surprise, but the presence of a breathing body next to him is. He rolls onto his side, watching the careful rise and fall of Harry’s chest, his steady even breathing. He’s snoring softly, quietly enough that Eggsy has to strain his ears to hear it. A tuft of grey hair peeks from the low collar of Harry’s shirt and Eggsy resists the urge to slide under Harry’s arm and rest his cheek on Harry’s chest. These days Eggsy has better reign over his self-control but it’s easy to forget his training when faced with Harry himself.   
  
Harry who looks perfectly handsome even in sleep, his face tilted to the side, his lips parted a fraction. Harry who’s got one arm folded behind his head, his cheek dented with pillow marks. He isn’t wearing much either, just a shirt and pair of pants whose texture Eggsy remembers perfectly with his teeth. Harry probably has an aversion to sleeping naked. Naked is risky, he’ll probably say. And he isn’t the type to let his guard down even when he’s sleeping.   
  
Still, he looks unrepentantly handsome, the lines of his face slack in dreaming – that soft downturned mouth. Before that night, that first night, Eggsy had never thought of him this way. He’s watched him from a distance, always with an appreciative awestruck touch, though no, that isn’t entirely true at all. The watching part, that’s true, because he’s always been fascinated by the economy of Harry’s movements, the sure confidence behind every gesture. He’s brisk in everything he does, but not careless. And he plans for everything in advance. Eggsy sometimes wonders if Harry’s planned for this inevitability. He wonders if after Harry saw him that first time, he ran through the many ways they could end up.   
  
Eggsy’s always thought Harry was a fit bloke, but in the idle way he thought anyone was attractive. It was just another piece of information about him to file away, another thing Eggsy knew about him: Harry is right-handed, Harry likes piping hot socca, Harry is handsome, suave, and he’ll knock your socks off and charm your mum. And then Harry had kissed him while they were in the middle of an argument – on a mission in Colombia – throwing everything out of order and shutting Eggsy up. He wasn’t supposed to do that but there must’ve been something in the water, something in the heat. The way it rose off the ground in shimmering waves and Harry had to walk around with his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, his only capitulation, besides the forgoing of his suit jacket, to the weather.  
  
Eggsy slides out of bed, careful not to jostle Harry, and lumbers to the shower. He turns the water on and steps into the hot spray and spends a good five minutes lathering his hair with Harry’s expensive shampoo. Eggsy likes smelling just like him, after a shower, or after sex, whichever. He checks his reflection in the mirror: the split lip, the newly healing scar on his left eyebrow after a botched mission in Harbin. He can still feel the phantom ache in his ribs from the exit wound. Sometimes, Eggsy lies awake at night and catalogues all the missions he’s been on since joining Kingsman – so many now that places remain indistinguishable apart from the colour of the terrain underfoot. 

He swipes a damp towel over his face and thinks about tiptoeing back to the guestroom, or going home and having a long day-long nap, or going back to bed and feigning sleep. Or he could make Harry breakfast downstairs, it wouldn’t be the first time. Eggsy tiptoes back to the bedroom, thoughts halted at the sight of Harry easing off the bed and padding barefoot to the bathroom. He moves sleepily, his thighs flexing impressively.   
  
“You’re up,” Eggsy says just as Harry covers up a yawn behind a hand and musses his hair up even further with his fingers.   
  
“Why, yes, of course,” Harry says. “It’s half past seven, Eggsy.”   
  
Eggsy has no response to that, stepping aside to give him room but Harry hooks an arm around his waist and tugs him forward until they’re pressed chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Eggsy is still naked, so when Harry kisses him high up behind the ear he feels it all the way to his toes. He curls them, briefly, into the carpet, digging for traction to keep from tipping over and sighing like an absolute muppet.   
  
Eggsy wants to resist, but Harry is taller than him and holding him steady, warm from sleep, his thigh between Eggsy’s thighs, his mouth brushing Eggsy’s neck softly. And Eggsy can feel the thin film of hair on Harry’s legs and the long creases in his hands where they’re calloused from his guns; he can smell the damp sourness of his morning breath that he doesn’t really mind.   
  
And he’s fantastic in bed, so really, Eggsy never stood a chance, and he kisses more softly than Eggsy could have ever imagined.   
  
Harry breathes with him. Long pulls of air that make Eggsy dizzy with anticipation.   
  
Harry kisses him, slow and waiting, until Eggsy tips his head back and gives in, hooking his fingers together behind Harry’s neck. Kiss him you berk, his brain tells him, and Eggsy follows, a slave to his baser impulses, closing his eyes and giving it just the right amount of tongue appropriate to this ungodly hour in the morning.   
  
When Harry pulls away, his finger stills over the bow of Eggsy’s mouth, and he sweeps his other thumb right under Eggsy’s eyelid. His smile makes Eggsy feel like he’s standing naked in the sun; it makes him feel lightheaded, and this, all of this, is probably why he’ll never stop trying so hard to be good to him. He’s never felt braver.   
  
Harry says, “Good morning,” and Eggsy can’t help the grin that splits his face. 

 

 

 


End file.
